I have been wandering these barren wastes for what seems to be a month, though it’s hard to tell with no cycle of celestial bodies. This form of purple slime I have been shoved into does not require sustenance, so food or sleep are of no concern. I have noticed in many areas a material of identical composition to my body is all over the ground. I have to find out what’s going on…

In the distance I see the first abnormality I have encountered since arriving here: a tower. The tower itself is lit up. I rush over as fast as I can, but I stop short about 500 feet when I see what appear to be people. Perhaps they know what’s going on. I now approach more cautiously than before. That’s when they see me.

I panic as the two people standing near the entrance of the tower run towards me at full speed, swords drawn. I start moving backwards but I trip and cannot get up as my body connects with the purple sludge on the ground like a lake absorbs a water droplet. I am powerless as they approach me.

When they reach me I can make out what they are wearing. Old knight armor and capes of crimson red. To my surprise, however, rather than attack me, they look dumbfounded and sheathe their swords.

"He is finally here," one mutters to the other. "We must tell the priest at once." At this the other one runs back to the tower frantically. The knight that spoke extends his hand to help me up, although I can barely see it in the darkness. "I am Victor, Crimson Praetor, and you will bring us to salvation."

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As Victor and I approach the tower, I am thankful to finally be graced with light after wandering in the dark wasteland for so long. I try to express my gratitude but my esoteric body can only gutter a sludgy pop. When we reach the doors, they swing open and I am presented with a lavishly furnished foyer that looks much bigger on the inside than the outside. In the center is a red carpet leading up to a throne of an unknown purple metal. Hundreds of people robed in the same crimson as the Praetor kneel to us as we walk by.

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As we approach the throne I see there is another robed individual sitting upon it. "So it is true," he declares to the whole room. "The one who can harness the magic has arrived to deliver us. Present him with the artifact."

One of the robed figures comes up to Victor and I and grabs my head. He sticks a small device into where my mouth would be if I was still human, causing immense pain. "Shit!" I exclaim. The pain only lasts for a moment, however, as I realize this device small golden device has allowed me to speak. My voice is not like the one I am used to; it is deep, metallic, and ominous. I am slightly taken aback, but grateful for the assistance nonetheless. "Thank you," I express.

"Of course," the robed figure responds. Only after he says this do I realize his face is completely obstructed by the shadow of his hood; all of the robed figures kneeling around me share this quality. "I am sure you have many questions. I will answer them to the best of my ability."

The figure says his name is Leviticus and tells me we are in a place called the Emptiness, a sort of nexus that connects every dimension. "When spells go awry or the gods cast you out, this is where your unfortunate soul goes."

"Spells? You expect me to believe magic is—" I realize the stupidity of the question before I finish it. I am in a much more absurd situation than I can comprehend and I am shocked that Magic is real? "Earlier you mentioned gods. What do you mean by that? Is there not only one God?"

The robed figure ponders this for a moment. "You refer to Yahweh, the omnipotent creator that sits above all. While it is true Heaven and Hell are real, there are an infinite number of dimensions and realities that sit between, each with their own lesser divine host and set of rules. To say there is only one god is blasphemy, but you are correct in your worship. The lesser gods cannot save your soul.

"So I assume you all ended up here because of these gods casting you out of their worlds. If you all were brought here in the flesh, why has my soul inhabited the substance that coats the ground of this plane?"

The figure does not answer for a solid minute, deep in thought. He looks up with an air of sympathy. "Your soul has been doomed."